Set the Fire to the Third Bar
by jakelsx
Summary: .troyella. I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms.


**Set the Fire to the Third Bar**

_I find the map and draw a straight line __  
Over rivers, farms, and state lines __  
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be__  
It's only finger-lengths that I see __  
I touch the place where I'd find your face__  
My finger in creases of distant dark places_

_--_

They both fell down onto the cold bed, panting for air. A new smile was plastered on her face as he touched her sweating forehead.

His other hand drifted down her bare arm to her left hand, where a newly gold band was placed just a week ago.

But he was still not smiling.

"God, Troy," she sighed, swinging one hand into the mess of dark curls she called her hair. "That was… amazing."

He only nodded solemnly.

She noticed his strange actions. He was usually so enthusiastic about their relationship. It was something to brag about but also something to keep close and private.

"What's wrong?" she asked, moving the sheets to cover their bodies.

He looked into her eyes for a solution that always came. It wasn't there this time.

The Iraq War had stretched another five years, now one of the longest American wars. It wasn't over still; there was a lot of fighting that still had to be done. The government officials keep on telling everyone that it's for our freedom but what is the cost of that freedom? Drafting. There was no more time for volunteers. Now, at random, the government was picking names out of a hat for whom to go to Iraq.

"Did you check the mail lately?" he asked voice soft and tender. He delicately brought her hand up to his face.

"Troy, you're scaring me," she whispered hoarsely.

Within the six and a half years of their relationship, she couldn't pick out one time she was this worried. Sure, there was that time in college when he didn't show up to his own birthday party but that was only because he was planning a surprise for all of them.

"I've been drafted," he sighed, waiting for a yell or a scream.

There was silence.

Comprehension was futile. She didn't even try to ask when he would be leaving or how he, himself, even felt about it. But she didn't cry either. No, crying would not be the mature thing to do.

"I don't know how it's going to work," he said. "They're going to ship me off in a little while."

"Ship you off?" she asked, voice breaking. Her nails grazed over his chest.

"To Iraq," he confirmed.

"To war?" she asked again.

"Yes," he finally said.

She responded by draping an arm over him and hugging him, his soul, her life.

He could only hug her back for he knew that he would leave his new wife very, very soon.

--

"Bolton," the commander called. "Down! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Troy dove beneath the little cover there was. He realized after his first skirmish that Iraq wasn't the best place to hold a war. There were plains of just sand and pebbles.

He fired his weapon twice before ducking his head.

He felt the picture of his wife rub against his chest as he tried to move closer to the ground, hoping for some sanction amongst all this chaos.

It's been two months.

--

_Dear Gabriella,_

_How are you doing? It's been a whole month since I've seen you and I really wish I could be back home. _

_I have your picture in my hand and my ring on my finger. I guess I'll tell you how it looks here. Well, there're a lot of bullets flying around. A guy got shot in the neck and died next to me today. TV doesn't tell the entire truth, as you might've guessed. The fighting looks like it'll last another six months or so. I'm okay; don't worry about me. _

_The commander is calling me; I have to go. _

_With Love,_

_Troy_

Gabriella put the scrap of paper down. Tears were in her eyes. She could over analyze though. The letter took about a month to send. What if he had gotten hurt within that month?

Her hands drifted to her stomach.

Time for a response.

_Dear Troy,_

_I'm so glad to hear from you. Nothing feels better than the thought of you being safe._

_I really hope you send a letter to your mom. She's been calling me everyday wondering if I got a letter from you. _

_But there's been some really important news about me… about us. I went to the doctor's a couple of days ago. I kept on throwing up. After an examination, he said that I was pregnant. Troy, I've pregnant with _our_ baby. Can you believe it? I'm due in March so hopefully, you'll be home by then. _

_Love you,_

_Gabriella_

Troy read the letter several times over. Pregnant? He was overjoyed.

"Bolton, get your scrawny ass out here!" the commander called.

Troy quickly grabbed a pencil and a scrap of paper and wrote two little words.

_I'll try_

He wrote down the address and shoved it into the mailbox, grabbed his equipment and ran out the base camp.

As soon as he got out, he could see the fighting in the distance. US artillery smashed tanks but incoming Iraqi soldiers quickly took down the artillery operators. Troy hustled out to the battlefield and dropped as soon as he heard a bullet whiz by him.

He aimed and shot again and again and again. The fighting seemed to stay the same for hours.

Sweat poured down his neck. He was passed scared. His hands were trembling.

Then he saw his commander take a bullet in the side.

The big man fell like a sack of potatoes. Troy immediately scrambled toward him and swung out his medkit. He fumbled with the morphine and put pressure on the wound. The blood was coming out too fast! More pressure.

"Godammit Bolton," the commander said through gritted teeth. "Get out of here!"

Troy looked into the commander's dark eyes for a moment but then went back to bandaging the wound.

"Bolton, there are more tanks coming over. If you don't get back into your own position, you'll be gone, got it?"

"Sir, I—"

"No, get your ass back where it's supposed to be!" Troy fumbled with the bandage, just sealing it before getting up.

"MEDIC!" a voice called. Holding his helmet with one hand, Troy spun around at the sound of the voice.

Then it was all a blur.

There was another voice; another commander probably. "Oh my god, more tanks!"

"Where's our artillery?"

"Get down!"

"Chuck some grenades at 'em!"

"Oh, god! I'm hit!"

There were so many distressed voices, Troy forgot to move.

A tank's shell landed a few feet away from him. The sharpnels flew out immediately. Troy ducked but a piece of metal had already lodged in his neck and chest. Hands flew up to meet the wound. He was choking, drowning in his own blood. He couldn't call for a medic, he couldn't talk.

Oh, god, it hurt. He could feel the edges of the metal that dug into his chest, the other piece that pierced his neck.

His eyes were closing.

Oh, god, whatever you do, don't close your eyes.

He reached for his chest pocket. The picture.

It was stained with blood already and he couldn't get it out; the chunk of metal and pinned it down to his flesh.

He was going to die.

He knew it.

He lay down on the cold ground. He felt the earth shake with the tank's heaving footsteps. He felt the pain in his chest and neck. He felt a pain in his heart, like he never felt before. It was weaker the summer of junior year, when Gabriella had left him. But now, it was unbearable.

He tried to keep his eyes open but a heavy weight crashed down on him before he could.

And his eyes closed.

--

_I'll try_

She read the letter and scanned the paper over and over again, as if there was something more written on it.

One hand rested on her growing stomach. The other held a mug of hot chocolate. She'd been having these cravings lately and it didn't feel right without Troy making fun of the weird food combinations she ate.

She sighed and let go of the mug only to rub her temples out of frustration.

Whenever she turned on the news, it would say something about the war being nearly over and having all your husbands and sons back home. But she knew that it was a lie. Otherwise, Troy would've been able to have written more than two words to her. A hollow statement. A cliff hanger.

**One and a half months later** she got another letter. It was addressed to her and it was from the military.

This letter was in a neat, clean envelope and for a moment, she thought that Troy had enough time to send a good, neat letter.

As she opened it, her eyes scanned over the sheet of computer paper.

Computer paper.

_Dear Mrs. Bolton,_

_We are sorry to inform you that your husband, Private 1__st__ Class Troy Bolton, has been killed in war. He has fought with great valor and loyalty toward our county. The entire nation thanks him and his dedication…_

That was enough.

Now, there was no more time to be mature.

She cried.

First, it was just a choked back sob but it quickly progressed into a frenzy of cries.

She threw herself onto the couch, burying her head into her hands. Her dark curls fell over her face and she couldn't stop shaking. She couldn't stop her seizure-like movements. So erratic. When she had to lift her head up to heave in some air, she still couldn't stop crying.

The breakdown was horrible.

She couldn't even sense any part of reality.

That is, until she felt a flash of pain in her stomach.

Her crying subsided for a moment and her hands traveled down to her stomach, wrapping around the baby bump that had form over the four months.

Oh, god, Troy wasn't even going to be able to see their child.

She started shaking again.

He had set the fire to the first bar.

* * *

**AN/ **it seems as though I can't stay on one story for very long. Eh, got this idea whilst visiting a memorial. Three chapters probably. First one sucked, I don't really expect much from this one.

But THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS FOR HURT! It's matched Her Power on the review-o-meter and has beaten it on the hits-o-meter! Thank you!


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